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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946277">Polite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere'>NikoNotHere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>One-Shots [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rammstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Worship, Character Study, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Snippets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:41:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What goes through Richard's head one evening in bed</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>One-Shots [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Polite</h2></a>
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    <p>Polite.</p><p>Yes, polite is the word I'd use to describe him, I think, watching how gently Till removes my sweatpants and slides each leg out. It really is adorable. </p><p>He has his rough moments, of course. I remember one time last week vividly, as I'd been thrown onto the balcony rail with half his hand shoved in my mouth while he fucked the daylights out of me. It was definitely an experience, but those moments are actually rare. You'd not guess it by his appearance or stage demeanor at least, but he's very subdued in the bedroom. Or, balcony, as the case may be.</p><p>Like now, as he reverently begins mouthing up my inner leg. A muscle along my thigh twitches at the sensation of his hard scruff raking against my smooth skin. It tickles a bit, and I grit my teeth until the gentle kisses turn firmer.  His face slowly makes its way higher, toward the very warm and very contented rest of me. </p><p>Till's eyes glance upward for just a second before focusing back down below. He always checks in periodically, scanning my face and eyes for approval or permission, and sometimes both. </p><p>*Especially* right before he does what he's doing now. </p><p>I catch a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp in my throat while my hands flail up to his head, and Till rumbles in satisfaction. He really adores my still-somehow-genuine reaction every time. He deeply nuzzles into my groin, leaving hot, heavy breaths just to the side of where I'd prefer them to be. I asked him once why he rubbed his face in my crotch so much, seemingly enjoying that almost more than the actual act he was about to perform. Till shrugged and said I always smelled nice, and the warmth against his face combined with my smell and my reaction was just something he loved. After explaining that to me back then, he chuckled and asked if I were okay with that. I shrugged and told him to knock himself out. So he always does. </p><p>Another glance up, and Till then does what he considers to be, "what he does best, just above poetry."</p><p>Speaking of doing, as I let out a very loud moan, Till always insists on doing everything to me first, or at bare minimum simultaneously. It seems to be very difficult for him to relax if he knows I'm still pent up. I'm not sure whether that's a kink of his to get me off first, or whether it's-- as I mentioned before-- politeness. </p><p>I don't suppose it matters either way, really. The outcome is still the same, I think, as my lower back stiffens expectantly. While some people are still able to function at this point in time, I'm not one of them, as my eyes almost always roll back and I lose every train of thought currently blasting their way back and forth through my head.</p><p>When I come back around, Till is buried back in his little safe place in my groin. I let him nuzzle around-- gently, I have to remind with a hiss sometimes as he gets eager again too quickly. Eventually, Till becomes satisfied that he's done his work properly and will follow my languid tugging at him to come up and kiss me. He does so, always overly gentle and soft about it all. It's my favorite part, really-- still bathing in an afterglow while having Till pressed against me, knowing exactly how he feels in that moment. </p><p>Till feels he's done a good enough thing for him to be allowed a sense of happiness. Through the years, I've done everything I can to stomp out this inferiority complex my poor partner was saddled with, but it still rears its jeering head now and then. That's why these private, unfiltered moments of real bliss and togetherness are so special to me-- because I know we *both* are feeling truly happy. </p><p>And every single time, without exception, we both lean back just slightly from the kiss and murmur together,<br/>
"I love you."</p>
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